


Blue Skies

by valantha



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Cloud Watching, F/M, Fluff, Season/Series 01-02 Hiatus, Sunburn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-30
Updated: 2013-11-30
Packaged: 2018-01-03 02:15:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1064519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valantha/pseuds/valantha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miles pointed to a cloud formation, “What do you see?”</p>
<p>Rachel examined it for a few seconds, and then declared matter-of-factly, “Mesoamerica.” </p>
<p>“Nope, you’re wrong,” Miles said, startling her; he continued, “It’s a fat-bottomed scorpion with a baseball cap on.”</p>
<p>Rachel laughed. For the first time in what seemed like months.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue Skies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mademoiselle L'Arel](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Mademoiselle+L%27Arel).



> Prompt fill for Mademoiselle L'Arel who wanted a fic where Rachel and Miles spend a day doing absolutely nothing sad or harsh, only fluff and cuteness. I couldn't write a 100% fluff piece, but I hope you like this 95% fluff fic. Maybe I'll try again sometime.
> 
> I don't own the characters or Revolution; I'm just playing with them for a bit for fun, not profit.

Rachel lay in the hot summer sun, letting the sizzling Texas heat bake into her. It was a good sort of heat, suffusing through her body, leaving behind a feeling of lethargic contentment. Mulch poked at her through her thin cotton shirt, but she was too lazy to budge and poke it down. Fluffy white clouds – she used to know their name, but it didn't matter right now – rolled by and Rachel lazily watched each formation drift and shift above her. That one was a horse, but then the neck elongated and it became a giraffe. Another started out as a sailboat and shifted to a submarine. Dozens of shapes made of water vapor made their stately progression above her.

She heard footsteps and tensed.

"Rachel?" Miles called mildly.

"Here," she replied.

Miles' footsteps approached, and his sideways face appeared in her line of sight blocking the elephant-head cloud. Miles' brown eyes shone with some inner spark she hadn't been able to characterize in the twenty-five years she'd known him. A small proto-grin teased at the corner of his mouth.

"Aren't you supposed to be weeding the garden, not sun-bathing?" he asked.

Rachel sat up on her elbows to get a better perspective, and nodded at the small pile of mostly bindweed seedlings, "I was. Now, I'm cloud-watching." She had been entranced by imagining the photosynthesis going on in the broad, fragrant tomato leaves that she had paused to check out the sun – indirectly of course – and one thing had led to another...

"Cloud-watching eh?" Miles remarked while maneuvering his middle-aged body to the ground beside her. Both of them were not as young as they once were, and Miles had never been one for taking care of his body. Rachel twinged in sympathy for all of the familiar decades old scar tissue, and the foreign new scar tissue.

Rachel settled back into the mulch laid out between the kitchen garden and the neighbor's stable. Miles pointed to a cloud formation, "What do you see?"

Rachel examined it for a few seconds, and then declared matter-of-factly, "Mesoamerica."

"Nope, you're wrong," Miles said, startling her; he continued, "It's a fat-bottomed scorpion with a baseball cap on."

Rachel laughed. For the first time in what seemed like months.

Thus began the one-upmanship. Rachel pointed out an iguana with a bola tie, and Miles pointed out what he claimed to be a horse riding a kangaroo. Rachel spotted a p orbital in high heels, but by the time she had finished  _attempting_  to explain what that was – quite a trick as Miles had slept through high school chemistry three decades ago, and wasn't  _even_  familiar with the Bohr model of the atom – it had been squished into jellyfish.

The game of 'discover the goofiest cloud formation' continued until Rachel hadn't heard from Miles for five or ten minutes. She propped herself up and checked on him. He was asleep; one firmly muscled yet gentle arm thrown over his eyes, the other hand tucked into his waistband.

Rachel wondered if the bed in his rented room had a crappy mattress, or if he'd spent too many long nights in Jolene's Tavern. Rachel knew she should feel disapprobation for all of his drinking,  _especially_  given his history, but all she could feel was joy that he was here with her. Hadn't left like Charlie had. Had even braved her father's displeasure to remain near her. Whether it was out of some misguided sense of responsibility, or out of feelings he'd never admit – it didn't matter. The fact remained; Miles was here, with her.

Rachel inch-wormed her way over to Miles and laid her head on his sweat-stained shirt, placing her ear over his sternum. She listened to the steady, melodious thrumming of his heart. Miles was her rock. Her lean, wiry security blanket. No one else could understand what they'd been through. Making the hard choices, trying to do the right thing, and messing it all up – repeatedly. He was the only one who knew the full extent of her death toll and still cared for her. Charlie'd never understand – and Rachel was grateful that she wouldn't, grateful that her daughter had grown up protected, unable to understand the moral compromises she had made. Dad loved her unconditionally, but he had never been were she'd been, he didn't get it. Only Miles understood.

Rachel allowed the sun and the constant of Miles' heart to lull her to sleep.

* * *

"Jesus, Rachel!"

Rachel started up from her nap, from Miles' chest, her right cheek damp with a mix of her and Miles' sweat. Dad was glaring down at them.

"Didn't I teach you better than to fall asleep in the sun? You're burned to a crisp! Get your red butt inside and I'll give you some aloe. You too Miles," he added belatedly.

Rachel gingerly felt her left cheek, and neck. They were hot to the touch. One patch of lower back that had become exposed nagged at her. That was going to be painful later. But it was worth it. That nap had been great. First dream-free sleep in what felt like decades.

Rachel ducked, hiding her face in her hair to cover an unabashed grin as Dad shooed her and a sheepish Miles into his examination room.

Dad whipped up an aloe cream, and directed Rachel to the examination table. After a few moments he turned, and began chiding them for their irresponsible behavior. Rachel instantly regressed thirty years and tuned him out. She  _knew_  falling asleep in the Texas summer sun was foolish, but Dad needed to say his piece. He must know she was getting better. Earlier he wouldn't even raise his voice to call her down for supper.

Dad began gently dabbing the aloe on her face and Rachel was surprised to see how old Dad looked. He was care-worn and jowly. She knew she had put most of those wrinkles on that beloved face of his – back when she was a teen, and now.

"Thanks Dad," she said. He looked up from the cream, startled, their blue Porter eyes met, "Thanks for everything."

She hugged him close, carefully avoiding her scorched left side. After a few moments, Miles shifted, uncomfortable with the feelings around him. Rachel inwardly rolled her eyes at his cold and surly façade, but took pity on his emotionally constipated self, and released her father from her embrace.

Dad finished dabbing her face and neck, handed Miles the bowl of aloe paste, and rinsed his hands off in the washbasin. As he dried his hands on a bit of reclaimed flannel, he said, "Dinner is in 20, if you haven't killed your appetite with all that sun. And you should drink some water to rehydrate."

Dad tossed the improvised towel on the washstand and left the room, giving Rachel an annoyedily-concerned look over his shoulder.

It took every ounce of willpower in her being, but Rachel resisted giggling like a madman at her dad's  _look_. She was a grown-ass woman, had birthed and raised two kids, had a PhD, had – for all intents and purposes – ended the world twice, and here she was getting told off by her dad for falling asleep in the sun.

Miles glanced at her, aloe smeared unevenly over his forehead and nose, and he quirked his eyebrow at her. All of her resistance and resolve crumbled. She laughed. A big, hearty guffaw. Miles looked at her quizzically before the absurdity of the situation and the infectiousness of true mirth got to him. He chuckled, which turned into a belly laugh, and before long, he had made his way over to the examination table, and they collapsed into an undifferentiated amoeba of breathless giggles and snorts.


End file.
